Living the Life of an Artist are thoughts and life happenings that surround me as continual questions, self-doubt, and distractions (okay and perhaps down right laziness) get in the way of being creative.
I want to explore this aspect of being creative. What happens when life gets in the way? How do we move past the self doubt?

Saturday, March 18, 2006

We are all artists, are we not, in one way or another? I am definitely a jack of all trades. This is one of the paintings that I have done on slate. It is an image of getting together to share stories of the heart. Let's talk about art...Art... my earliest remembrances are of Gail and I making our own paper dolls and the clothing to dress them in. I also remember my mother spending hours coloring with us. I learned early on to color carefully and stay in the lines.My next artful memories are of elementary school where I would draw pictures from anatomy books and science books...can't remember why...Then there were the junior and high school years where I took art classes. Of course, I was NEVER as good as everyone else. It made me realize, though, that it was important for me to find my own style and that I wasn't happy doing it like everyone else. In my senior year (taken a year after my first son was born because I dropped out to have him and then returned,) I took a creative writing class. This is when I first got the real inkling that I could do any sort of writing. Later, after the first divorce, I took night courses in creative writing at Northern Essex, which got me into journalling. (I look back on those journals now and they are full of unhappiness and how I wished I was dead.)Later, I discovered poetry was a wonderful tool to unburden my soul. My mother was very disappointed. She wanted me to be a "REAL" artist and found my poetry sad and didn't like it because it didn't rhyme. I disagreed. I felt so good after I wrote a poem. It was a tremendous release, an unbaring of the soul. Sometimes, the written word helped me to unravel some of the chaos that banged around inside my head.What I love about free style poetry is that is doesn't matter if it doesn't rhyme or is not metered. Punctuation and grammar do not matter, nor does spelling. For me, it's about an outpouring of the soul. Put pen to the paper and let the poems write themselves. Yes! They will say when they are done and THEN you can go back and edit.Of course, I dabbled in other arts. I still paint once in a while, I've made some jewelry, knitted scarves, and I play around with photography. I also play Native American flute which I absolutely love... oh, and I drum.I don't have to be perfect. If I had to be, I'd never do anything, would I. Would you? Talk to me about your art(s.) What makes you feel most alive.

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Getting up in the morning, remembering my noctournal adventures and writing them into my dream journal. It becomes mental calisthetics to push myself to recall the night visions of a life I live fully in the shadow of the moon. Often my dreams are so busy it's a wonder I come back to myself fully rested in this reality.

I am alive when I am creating things out of clay. Yet it has been months since I've had my hands in the mud, so much so that my fingernails are quite long and yesterday morning I even applied two different colors of nail polish to them--pink with Maroon exclamation points. Certainly a statement. I don't care that now the colors are starting to chip off, the aliveness was in the creation moments. Soon I will cut them short as I am going to take a class next month to help me get jump started back into the groove of creating in clay.

I am alive when I am communing with my two cats, especially "Mo". She is about 14 years with a sweet and sour personality. She can tell some of the best jokes! Her dry wit and sarcasm is a hoot, especially when she directs it at "Loki".

I am alive when I am around like minded people sharing the pleasures of food and talk.

My husband helps solidify my aliveness when we say our vows to each other every morning before he goes off to work.

I am alive at the end of the phone when one of my children calls just to tell me, "I love you today."

My aliveness enfolds memories of my loved ones who have parted this reality in favor of the ultimate spritiual pursuit. Oh, how I miss them, but at times I am also envious.

I come alive at times like these when I am asked "What makes you feel most alive?"